“Please don’t, Mom. I don’t want him to break up with me.”

That sentence troubled me more than Tyler’s criticism.

My daughter was already afraid that standing up for herself might cost her the relationship.

That evening, Emma came downstairs wearing a thick sweatshirt despite the warm weather.

Daniel noticed immediately.

“Getting cold, Em?”

“No, Dad.”

He watched her tug the sleeves over her hands.

“Something bothering you?”

Emma glanced at me before reluctantly explaining what Tyler had said.

Daniel listened quietly.

I waited for his temper to rise.

Instead, he asked one question.

“Did you want to change anything about your arms before Tyler mentioned them?”

“No.”

“Then don’t let his opinion make that decision for you.”

He kissed her forehead and began clearing the table.

I followed him into the kitchen.

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

Daniel looked at me.

“What else does she need right now?”